


How Long?

by KTBass



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gryffindor, Head Boy and Girl, No seriously there is no plot, Ravenclaw, Seventh year, Slytherin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:55:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1595720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KTBass/pseuds/KTBass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose has known Scorpius Malfoy for seven years, been Head Girl to his Head Boy for six months, but has only just realized that he's been her friend all along. Good thing it only takes a split second to turn all that into something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Long?

“So that’s it, everyone,” Rose announces to the assembled prefects. “If you’re switching duty times with anyone please let me or Scorpius know.”

There is a scraping of chairs as the assembled students get up, laughing and chattering as they group off by house and file out the door. Rose rolls her eyes when Albus sticks his tongue out at her before disappearing around the corner, shoving his crimson and gold scarf into the bag she’d given him for Christmas. Lily waves as she walks by, a group of sixth year girls giggling around her.

Rose waves back and begins gathering up the timetables spread before her, sorting them efficiently into stacks and filing them away in the pale green portfolio that her father had presented her when she was named Head Girl.

“That went shockingly well,” Scorpius Malfoy says from behind her, chucking his notes and quills into his bag.

“No thanks to you. How someone with no ambition whatsoever got picked for head boy, I’ll never know.”

He flops back into a chair, leaning back and balancing his feet on the edge of the table. “Innate leadership skills. Also, animal magnetism.”

Rose gives a beleaguered little sigh. “Right. The animal magnetism. How could I have forgotten.”

“Don’t forget my massive intellect.”

“Of course. All that Ravenclaw brain power you love wasting on quidditch and mucking about.”

“And coming second in every exam,” he points out brightly.

“To me,” she reminds him. She zips up her bag and hoists it over her shoulder. “You coming with?”

Scorpius slips his feet off the table and stands, running his fingers through his silvery blonde hair and rolling his eyes. “Of course. And was I supposed to be offended by that?”

“Aren’t you?” she asks with a grin.

“Why? Because you’re a girl? Because you’re a Weasley? Or because you’re a Slytherin?”

“Because I’m me.”

“Believe me, Rose,” Scorpius says. “Your marks are the least offensive thing about you.”

She laughs without thinking about it, almost guffaws, and finds herself strangely embarrassed. “You can add my marks to Al’s running list of my many failings and foibles.”

“Also to be added: you use the word ‘foibles’ in casual conversation.”

“Read a book, you cretin,” she says, elbowing him in the side.

“I’ve read plenty of books. We need to work on your knowledge retention skills, Rose. Didn’t I just tell you that my marks are second only to yours?”

“It’s good to know that I can at least rely on you for my daily dose of sarcasm, if nothing else.”

“Please. My badge might as well read Headgirl Sidekick and you know it.”

“Not because - ”

“Because you’re a bit of an obsessive control freak, Rose.”

“You’re a git.”

“I know. And yet my charms are irresistible, even to you.”

“True enough. I’ve not shoved you off the astronomy tower yet. Ten points to Slytherin?”

“I’m scandalized by your attempted petty corruption.”

They reach the staircase that will take Scorpius to Ravenclaw tower and Rose to the dungeons, and she pauses to smile up at him. “Good luck in the match this weekend.”

“It’s Hufflepuff,’ he says, shrugging. “Who needs luck?”

“Or humility,” she replies, still smiling.

“Hey. The badgers have to be tops in _something_ ,” he says over his shoulder as he climbs the staircase.

Without giving herself time to think, she calls out after him. “Al said you took a job as a curse breaker. In Egypt.”

He’s silent for a long minute, watching her. Rose berates herself for bringing it up - she’d sworn she wouldn’t. But she’s spoken to Scorpius more in the year they’ve been heads together than in the six years that have come before combined. He’s turned out to be everything she expected him to be but somehow more than that, and she’s not sure what to do with the realization.

“I did,” Scorpius says at last, frowning down at her.

“A curse breaker?” she asks warily. When Al had told her, she’d been surprised. She assumed that he’d be going for the same high profile jobs she was expected to apply for, and somehow the thought of seeing him at the ministry every day had made the idea of it seem a little more bearable.

His eyebrows raise, but he doesn’t reply. Rose curses her nosiness, knowing she should just say goodbye and get back to the dungeons as fast as dignity will allow, but her feet remain rooted in the spot. She can feel her cheeks heating as she looks just beyond his shoulder to a painting of three nymphs chasing each other through a field of primroses.

“Amusingly enough, I’d rather thought the Egypt half of Al’s gossip would have caused the most interest.”

“Why?”

“I know geography isn’t a huge part of our Hogwarts education and all, but you see, Egypt’s on this whole other continent and – ”

“Scorpius. Seriously.”

“We’re friends, Rose. It’s far away.”

“I suppose,” she allows, deciding against pointing out that he’s more Al’s friend than hers.

Scorpius just sighs. “Are you done? I’ve got formations to diagram and about eight thousand pages of potions reading to catch up on.”

“Yeah, sure,” she agrees, and watches him disappear up the stairs.

* * *

On the day of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff quidditch match, students in blue and yellow sit cheering, their exultations puffing out into little clouds of steam. Al is next to her in the stands, the world’s smallest Ravenclaw penant in one hand as he hurls insults at the Hufflepuff captain, Macmillan. Rose laughs, pulling her cloak more tightly around her and adjusting the jar of bluebell flames at their feet.

“Calm down,” she tells him, shouting over the roar of the crowd as her cousin Lucy sends the quaffle through the left hoop for Ravenclaw. “It’s only Hufflepuff.”

“Macmillan’s a git!” Al yells in the direction of the yellow robe floating above the game.

“Macmillan’s a wanker!” she shouts, joining in on the fun.

“A tosspot toerag!” Al exclaims.

“A barmy berk!” she shrieks, and Al gives her a grin of pure delight.

Macmillan must hear them because his broom swings in their direction and, in that one second, a blue blur goes streaking across the sky in the opposite direction.

Albus is on his feet immediately, waving his tiny penant about frantically. “Come on, Malfoy! MALFOYYY! CATCH IT YOU PRAT!”

Rose can’t breathe for laughing, and she’s wiping tears away when Scorpius pulls out of a dive, snitch clutched in his fist. He stops above the middle of the stadium, giving the stadium a lazy bow and looking to flash Al an obscene gesture before his entire team surrounds him and they sink to the ground. Rose is still smiling as the Ravenclaws rush to join the melee on the pitch.

“That,” Al says, as the rest of the crowd begins to disperse, “was an excellent match.”

He sounds like a proud parent, and Rose will always be amazed that one detention in first year had brought two boys from very different houses and families together so quickly and with such loyalty.

“Your little boyfriend must be so thrilled to have such a dedicated fan in the stands,” she says, still catching her breath.

“Rah-rah,“ he says, rolling his eyes. “What’s the world come to when a guy can’t have a best mate without his favorite cousin taking the mick at every available opportunity?”

“Don’t make me laugh again, please,” she begs, clutching her sides as another fit of laughter takes her.

Al scans the pitch, but Rose sees the Ravenclaws already heading back to the changing rooms. “Of course, we’re going to crush them.”

“Don’t you always?”

“Your faith in my talents is so touching,” Al says, dropping his arm around her shoulders. “Come on. I need tea and biscuits. And gossip. We haven’t had a good whinge session in _ages._ ”

“Gran Molly sent me ginger newts,” she says, stowing her bluebell flames and allowing Al to lead her to the path that will take them back to the castle. “And I don’t whinge.”

“I didn’t get any ginger newts,” he whinges.

“You aren’t head girl,” she teases, following him up the steep incline.

* * *

 

“So I’ve been thinking,” Scorpius says one day when she’s hidden herself in the dungeons with her cauldron and the ancient potions book she sneaked from the library. “About our conversation on the staircase.”

She jumps from her stool with a yelp, the essence of dittany she’d been carefully drizzling into her cauldron rushing out all at once. Her potion gives a great burp and promptly changes from a shimmering sky blue to a gunky midnight mess.

“Damnit, Malfoy,” she gasps, throwing her hands up in disgust as she thinks of the hours of work that are now wasted.

“What was that supposed to be?” He looks over her shoulder, wrinkling her nose as the rapidly congealing mass begins emitting the distinct smell of dirty socks.

“Does it matter now?” she asks, collapsing back onto her stool and thunking her head on the table.

Scorpius ignores her, peering at the open book at her side. “An antidote to veritaserum? Do you understand how complex – ”

“Of course I bloody well know how complex it is,” she groans. “I’ve spent the last three weeks nursing it along.”

He crosses his arms. “So you’ve been skulking around down here trying to brew one of the most complex potions in existence?”

“I wasn’t _trying_ to do anything until you came along and bungled it all. And how the bloody hell did you find me anyway.”

Scorpius waves a well-loved piece of parchment casually in the air and for a moment she wonders if steam is actually spouting from her ears.

“Don’t go blaming Al,” he warns. “He owed me an indiscretion in my favor after blabbing to you about my job.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Scorpius snickers. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“And now you’re mocking me.”

“I have to seize the rare opportunities I have to return the favor.”

“Scoprius.”

“Rose.”

“What was so important that you had to come find me?” She’s too exhausted to fight with him and so she sighs, pulling out her wand to clean up the mess in her cauldron and send all of her ingredients zooming back into her potions kit.

He sits down next to her, closer than she’d like, but the woodsy scent of his soap is certainly welcome after the rancid stink of her failed potion.

“Since we have some weird unspoken custody agreement when it comes to our best friend, I thought I should clear the air.”

“Former best friend,” she mutters.

“You didn’t say it that day on the staircase, and my masculine pride is grateful, but I get the impression that you’re under the mistaken impression that you and I aren’t friends.”

She looks at him assessingly, trying to see his angle. He leans casually against the table, watching her with cool gray eyes. His hair is artfully mussed, his blue and silver tie loosened. Everything about him seems easy and confident and casual. Her eyes narrow.

“Did you lose a bet with Al?”

“I don’t lose bets,” he tells her, a crooked smile spreading across his face. “Not to Al at any rate. Too much of a Gryffindor for cleverness or cunning.”

“Or common sense,” she agrees.

“We’re friends. We’ve been friends for ages. So if you want to ask me questions about my job or anything else, you can ask me. You don’t have to go all Slytherin and con Al into it.”

She feels her face heating up and tries to ignore the look on Scorpius’s face that says he definitely notices. “But we - “

“We hang out loads, Rose. I’ve watched you play terrible quidditch on summer holiday. Hell, we exchanged Christmas gifts. If this year has shown us anything it’s that this friendship you are so reluctant to acknowledge makes us a good team. All right?”

“All right,” she says, staring down at her hands.

“Excellent. And since we’re well and truly friends, you can ask me whatever you want to know about what I’m doing after school.”

Rose meets his eye, chewing on the corner of her lip. “I’m jealous of you,” she finally says.

Scorpius is obviously taken aback, his face screwed up in confusion. “Jealous of me? For what?”

“You’re doing what you want. You must be. It’s the only logical or rational reason for you to bypass what I’m sure are some excellent opportunities.”

“Why should I have to sacrifice my life and the things I want because my father wore the dark mark?”

She gasps. “So it’s true then?”

“That he was marked? Yes. I guess Al _can_ keep a secret,” he says with a chuckle. “But I don’t owe anyone anything because of that. I’m not going to skulk around and hide my face because of my name but I definitely don’t need to prove myself either. I’d be bleeding miserable as a ministry drone.”

“But what about – ”

“And I have no interest in catching dark wizards. I mean, I hope they’re caught and I’m grateful Mr. Potter is around to do it. But that has sod all to do with me. I like solving puzzles. I like ancient runes. I like arithmancy and transfiguration and charms. I took the job with Gringotts because it’s the job I wanted.”

“Not quidditch?”

He laughs. “As if anyone would be interested in me with Al around. My dreams of playing seeker for England died the day of my first Ravenclaw match with Gryffindor.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because you wanted to know. Because I wanted you to know. And because you should know that you don’t owe anyone anything either.”

“Pardon?”

“Don’t get your wand in a knot, Weasley. Al was the same way. Felt like he had to be an auror because of his dad. Do something to make the wizarding world proud or some rubbish.”

“But Uncle Harry loves watching Al play.”

“And he told Al that over Christmas.”

“Al didn’t say.”

“ _Al_ was afraid that you’d turn your nose up at him playing quidditch professionally.”

She frowns, and she knows her hurt feelings are plain on her face by the way Scorpius smiles at her.

“May I ask you something?”

“Ok.”

“Why aren’t you a Gryffindor?”

“Because I’m a Slytherin.”

“Yes, Rose. I’m well aware. You know what I meant.”

“I’m the first Weasley ever to be a Slytherin.”

“Pretty sure I knew that, too.”

She hits him again. “I’m trying to be serious here, _friend_.”

“Ok, ok,” he laughs, surrendering.

“Everyone thought I’d be a Gryffindor. I did too. And when I wasn’t, I was so afraid that everyone would be disappointed. But my family was amazing. Even my dad. _Especially_ my dad, really. Gran Molly knitted every single Weasley a green sweater that year.”

“I remember. Al wore his for weeks.”

“Of course, now that I’m old enough my uncles tease me mercilessly. My cousins, too. But my dad never has.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I was terrified when the hat told me I’d be great in Slytherin. Al had promised me that it took our choice into account, but I remember thinking that if I would be great in Slytherin, shouldn’t I be there? And then suddenly I was wearing green and silver. I’m a Slytherin because it’s what I wanted. I’ve always been ambitious and clever - “

“And oh so modest,” he interrupts with a laugh.

“Don’t be a git, Scorpius. I’ve also always been a little selfish and, well, a bit of a snob. I could have been a Gryffindor, but I’d have been what my family expected, not who I _am_. Merlin, this is so embarrassing when I say it out loud,” she moans, burying her face in her hands.

“No arguments here,” he says, poking her in the side.

“You’re the worst. The very worst.”

“Sometimes,” he says, and she peeks between her fingers to see him smiling at her. “Come on. We’ll miss dinner. But I’ll come down tomorrow and help you start this over.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now hurry up. I’m canceling this friendship if all the maple tarts have been eaten.”

* * *

 

“How much longer is this going to take,” Al moans from a table across the dungeon from Scorpius and Rose.

“Sod off, Al,” Scorpius snaps, carefully slicing roots into almost impossibly precise circles. Rose watches him, glad to know that Ravenclaws are good for something besides facts.

“You know,” she says cheerfully as she carefully pours the dittany into the cauldron. “The fact that you’re down here is really all your fault. You’ve wanted us to be friends for ages. Now you have to share him.”

“I suppose the plus side is that he doesn’t seem to be enjoying it,” Al says, pulling a tin of Gran Molly’s biscuits out of his bag and ignoring his best friend’s scowl.

“I’m busy trying to decide which of you I’m going to poke with this knife,” Scorpius grumbles.

“And I wouldn’t have started this if I’d realized all my time would be spent in the dungeons. I hate potions. You know that.”

“Of course I bloody well know it,” Al replies. “I’ve been listening to you natter on about it for years, you great whinger.”

Rose ignores their bickering, watching as her potion slowly bubbles from light blue into the very palest of translucent silvers. She does a little shimmy and can barely feel sorry for the three weeks of work that Scorpius ruined. Somehow her success feels more fun with the pair of them to share it with, anyway.

“It worked!”

“So we’re done?” Al asks around a mouth full of biscuits.

“Of course not,” Rose says. “We need to add Scorpius’s beautifully symmetrical roots and _then_ we’re done.”

“And we have an antidote?” Al asks, showing interest for the first time in the three weeks he’d been pestering her and Scorpius while they worked.

“In theory,” Scorpius says, passing his roots to Rose, “We’ll have an antidote.”

“We’ll have an antidote,” Rose counters with a grin.

“Do we get to test it?” Al asks, his eyes lighting up.

“I’m not taking veritaserum,” Socrpius says flatly. “So don’t even think about getting excited.”

“I’m not taking it,” Al says at once. “Not a chance.”

“I’ll do it,” Rose says, completing her last clockwise stir. She bends over the cauldron, grinning when the potion shimmers bright silver before turning crystal clear.

“How are we even going to get - ”

Rose holds out a tiny stopper with less than a drop of serum in it and grins. “Professor Moon is a fan.”

“Gloating is not a good look for you,” Al says, digging in his bag and emerging with an apple.

Scorpius hands her a phial and she fills it with antidote. “Ok,” she says, facing the pair of them. “As a sign of ultimate trust, I’m going to let you be involved in this process. The only way to know if this is going to work is to know that the veritaserum is working.”

Al’s face lights up and she sticks her tongue out at him. “Ask me one question,” she says to Scorpius. “Just one. And don’t be a prat about it. Nothing gossipy or silly, promise?”

“I promise,” he says, crossing his heart.

“And then I’ll take the antidote and Al, you can ask me whatever ridiculous question you want.”

“Pretty sure of yourself,” Scorpius says, eyebrows raised.

“I know,” she smiles, opening the dropper and letting the veritaserum drip onto her tongue. “I’m ready.”

Scorpius stares at her for a long moment, his expression unaccountably serious and suddenly Rose wishes she’d let Al ask the first question.

“Rose Weasley,” he says, his voice smooth and her stomach dropping. “What do you want to do when you graduate?”

She wants to punch him as her mouth opens and she says, “Take a potions fellowship and do research.”

Immediately she is taking a swig of antidote. Al, with a sideways glance at Scorpius, gives her a reassuring smile and asks, “Was it you who spilt tea on James’ Agrippa card in third year when he blamed me?”

“Of course it wasn’t,” Rose lies easily, but what should have been her moment of triumph is overshadowed by Scorpius’s question. “And what the bloody hell was that?”

“You said nothing gossipy or silly,” he says. “I didn’t ask you if it’s true that you snogged Macmillan down the Defense corridors fifth year.”

“You snogged Macmillan?” Al demands, outraged.

“Of course I didn’t!” she replies hotly. “I would never! And don’t change the subject, Scorpius.”

“I asked you a question you wanted to know the answer to.”

“That was private!”

“Why? You asked Al what I was going to do when I graduated. Was it not private for me?”

Rose shoots Al a scathing look and he flushes and gives an exaggerated look at his watch. “Well, will you look at the time? Let’s go see what’s going on in the Great Hall and get something to eat.”

Scorpius doesn’t look away from Rose. “I already knew what you wanted to do. And it was time to admit it to yourself. I’ve spent three weeks watching you be brilliant at this. Annoyingly brilliant, in fact, because I’d rather imagined I must be at least close to you in potions, even if it is the most miserable subject this school forces us to endure.”

“That doesn’t - ”

“You should do what makes you happy, Rose. And I’ve never seen you happier than when your hair’s all bushy from steam and you have that manic look in your eye while you problem solve a tricky ingredient addition.”

“Malfoy,” Al says, watching Rose warily. “You’re new to this whole arguing with Rose when she’s actually hacked off and not just exasperated thing. Take some friendly advice and drop it.”

“You spend three weeks with me and you think you know me?” she asks him.

“No. I’ve spent seven years with you and I know that I do.”

Al’s face goes from concerned to panicked. “Malfoy. Mate. You should - “

“I’ll meet you upstairs, Al,” Scorpius says casually, still looking at Rose.

“You know what, brilliant plan,” Al says, grabbing his bag and bolting. “Way to go, Rosie!”

“You’re infuriating,” she says, ignoring her cousin and narrowing her eyes at Scorpius.

“So are you.”

His gray eyes are calm, his face passive, and she wants to throttle him. “Not as infuriating as you are.”

“It’s nice to be better than you at something,” he says coolly, still utterly unflappable.

“Merlin’s pants, Scorpius. Why do you have to push so hard?”

“Because I care about you,” he says, and his enduring patience nearly sends her over the edge.

“So now all of a sudden - “

“There’s nothing all of a sudden about this, Rose. I told you weeks ago. We’ve gone to the same school for seven years. We were prefects together. We’re head boy and girl together. We have all our advanced classes together. I see you in the summers. You were just too busy trying to be perfect to notice the rest of us.”

Her face burns hot and she looks away from him, hoping she’s managed to turn around before he sees the tears in her eyes.

“Rose,’ he says softly, and she feels him stepping behind her and squeezing her shoulder.

“You should go meet Al,” she says, failing to hide a sniffle and feeling more pathetic than ever.

“We’ll go meet Al as soon as you’re done crying.”

“I’m not, crying” she objects, blinking her eyes clear. “Really.”

His hand slides from her shoulder to pull her gently around and then Scorpius Malfoy is hugging her. “You’re insane, you know that? No one cares what you do, Rose.”

“I care,” she murmurs into the folds of his robes.

“Hence the insanity.”

“I just feel like I should do more. I _can_ do more. The hat put me in Slytherin because of my ambition.”

“And wanting to take a potions fellowship and research antidotes and protective potions and all the rest is going to help plenty of people _and_ you’ll get to do what you want _and_ you’ll probably be famous for inventing a cure for Spattergroit or something.”

Rose takes half a step back, but stays in the circle of Scorpius’s arms. She studies his face, notes the easy smile and the open fondness in his eyes, and she wants to kick herself for keeping him at arms length for so long. Without giving herself time to think, she’s up on her tiptoes, her hands sliding around his neck and then hugging Scorpius Malfoy turns into kissing Scorpius Malfoy.

She can sense his surprise, but before she can pull away he’s tugged her tighter to him and his tongue is sliding along her bottom lip and for a second she wonders if swooning is an actual thing that can happen to girls who don’t exist in the pages of the muggle period dramas she’s so fond of.

Their lips slip apart, and he rests his forehead on hers. He slides one hand up her back and across her shoulder before tilting her face up so their eyes meet.

“Rose,” he says, and the gruffness in his voice sends a shiver through her.

“How long?” she asks.

He just stares at her, nonplussed.

“How long have you wanted to do that?”

For the first time that she can remember, Scorpius’s pale cheeks flush pink and he averts his gaze.

“That long, huh?” she says softly, kissing him again.

 

 

 

 


End file.
